


Appendix

by Kaijuscientists



Series: Fictober 2020 [15]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Appendicitis, Confusion, Fever, Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Whump, Sickfic, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaijuscientists/pseuds/Kaijuscientists
Summary: A very sick Malcolm shows up at Claremont, luckily for him, his father is a doctor.
Series: Fictober 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949386
Comments: 3
Kudos: 80





	Appendix

**Author's Note:**

> 30\. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?  
> Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

Martin is drawing at his desk when his cell door opens.

“Malcolm? What a surprise.” Martin exclaims, standing to greet his son. “I wasn’t expecting….”

Malcolm stumbles through the door, an arm wrapped around his side. His eyes are glassy and unfocused as he stares at the wall opposite the door. 

Mr. David pokes his head through after Malcolm, making eye contact with Martin, an obvious obvious confusion on his face. Martin shrugs his shoulders, Malcolm was odd, but he didn’t know what was happening. Martin takes a hesitant step closer to his son.

“Malcolm? My boy?” Martin asks. “Are you ok?” 

Martin’s voice manages to get through to Malcolm, and he turns to see his father, then he spins around, realizing he has somehow ended up in Claremont.

“When...when did I get here?” He asks, turning to face his father again, his lacking the usual strength he carried behind his voice. 

“Just now,” Martin says, moving closer still to Malcolm. He’s close enough now that he can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the flush of his cheeks indicative of a fever. “Can I get you some help?”

“No… no, I just came... I have to ask…” Malcolm says, trailing off mid sentence to gasp in through clenched teeth, clutching at his side with both hands. 

“You want to sit down?” Martin asks, gesturing to his chair, taking another step towards the line. “you look like you need too.”

Malcolm drops to his knees, the impact causing him to yell out, arms now wrapped around his belly. His eyes are clenched shut

“Malcolm, talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.” Martin says, but Malcolm does not respond, doesn’t even acknowledge that he heard him.

“Malcolm!” Martin commands, in a booming voice Malcolm had no choice but to listen to. His eyes shot open, his breathing heavy as he swayed on the spot. “Good, good boy, now tell me what hurts exactly.” 

Malcolm opens his mouth, is about to answer when his features go slack. He falls forward over the line, with a thud

Martin is thankful that Malcolm’s visit was unplanned and that his hands are still free. He drops to his knees next to Malcolm as Mr. David throws the door to his cell open.

“Martin, do not touch him!” He orders. 

Martin doesn’t listen, he gently rolls his son over, resting his head on his lap. He presses a palm to Malcolm’s cheek, thumb brushing along his cheek, and sliding it up to his forehead, smoothing back his hair.

He’s burning up, just as he expected, and just by touch, it feels like he’s getting towards dangerous levels. 

“Martin, he can’t be across that line, you can’t be touching him.” Mr David says, trying to pull him back over the line, but Martin will not let him go. 

“I’m not going to hurt my own son!” Martin snaps, turning his attention back to his son. He presses his fingers into Malcolm abdomen and he wakes with a scream. 

“Thought so.” 

“An ambulance please,” Martin asks his guard, voice taking on a hint of concern. “his appendix has probably burst by now.” 

“Call his mother too!” He calls out as an afterthought when Mr. David wisely listens to him. 

Martin's attention is pulled back, when Malcolm starts to squirm, shaking his head. 

“No… no no no.” He begs, more delirious than anything. “No hospitals….”

“Shhh, shhh.” Martin shushes, running his fingers through his hair, remembering when he used to do this when he was younger, before all of this. But it calms him just the same. “We’re getting you some help.”

“Dad.” Malcolm chokes out through clenched teeth. “It hurts.”

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Martin says, relishing the feeling of holding his son in his arms, even given the gravity of the situation. “I’m sorry I can't do anything for you, i’m positive you have appendicitis. So, you’ll need surgery.” 

Malcolm suddenly starts to squirm, his feverish, pain addled brain taking the phrase ‘need surgery’ and running wild with it. Martin holds him still, a hand pressing down on his shoulder. 

David comes back in that moment, paramedics in tow. 

“Hand him over, Martin.” Mr. David orders, holding an arm up to keep the paramedics back 

Martin’s reflex is to hold on tighter, especially when Mr. David tries yet again to pull his son from his lap. 

“Martin, he needs help.” Mr. David says, “Let him go or you will lose privileges for a week.” 

That gets his attention, he reluctantly holds his hands up, allowing David to carefully slide his son back over the line and out of his reach.

The paramedics pack Malcolm up and take him away, leaving Martin alone again again. 

Left all alone, to fret and worry about his son. Eventually he bothers Mr. David enough to bring the phone in, and he calls Jessica every half hour for three hours, until the phone is taken away.

He goes to bed that night, reciting going over the chances and risks of dying during an appendectomy, worried, as he almost always is, about his son.


End file.
